


Greek Tragedy

by cherrywines



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Karaoke, M/M, New York City, Pizza, Rooftops, best friends george alex and nick, can you tell I am a one direction / solo stan, city bois, lol how do tragedies usually end ?, oh I also watched soul recently, pain?, twin flames dream and george
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrywines/pseuds/cherrywines
Summary: Spending dusk until dawn in the city that never sleeps was never in the plan for George, until an accidental meeting with a vivacious and effervescent boy named Dream. In the span of 24 hours, Dream manages to flip George’s whole world upside down. Inspired loosely by The Wombat’s song, “Greek Tragedy.”"The city that never sleeps." George muttered quietly, sitting down with the pizza box placed off to his left. "I never really understood that, honestly." Dream turned to George. "The city does sleep. It's asleep right now, can't you feel it?"
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	Greek Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> hello ! hello. this is something I whipped up over the past two weeks. I am not good at writing but I enjoy it and i've recently been stuck in a minecraft phase :]. Feel free to leave any questions or comments you might have!

New York City. The Big Apple. The City of Dreams. The city with many names, many faces. The city whose reputation precedes it- the ultimate destination for dreamers and thinkers alike. The city where all the glitter is gold. Little can see past the mirage that it casts over the city, looking beyond the glittering lights.

George, however, had found himself in the minority- the ones who saw the city for what it really was: a pretty girl with a horrible personality. A gleaming nugget of fool’s gold, enticing enough to deceive the average person. But George was hit with the unfortunate reality pretty quickly after his move to the city for school.

Even now, sitting in the club on a Friday night, George felt little of the magic that New York was supposedly meant to bring. The room too noisy, too hot- just too _much_.

It didn’t help that the club was playing the same bass-pounding EDM songs over and over and over again.

George hated nights like these. Hated the overwhelming smell of weed and smoke. The dark, emotionless, dilated pupils of every person he met eyes with. The faint smell of sweat dancing around the room, trailing after the sticky bodies.

Those bodies red with a feverish need to be near another person.

George never really understood it. Any of it. The hard drugs, the partying, the attraction to others.

Perhaps it was because he liked to be in control of himself, his environment. He liked to be in charge of his body and his mind. Because when you gave up control of those two things you were powerless. And George hated feeling powerless.

“George? Another drink?” George refocused his eyes as the melted liquid rainbow of lights became distinguishable lines of neon yellows, oranges, blues, and greens. His bottle of beer, untouched, sat before him.

The condensation caused by the excruciating heat of the room settled at the neck of the bottle before dripping down the length of it with a weighted splat.

“Oh no, I’m okay. I think I’m going to head back home.” George lifted his eyes off the bottle and gave his friend a faint smile.

“Are you sureee?” The words, slurred, but just barely. George could tell his friend, Nick, was walking the very fragile line of tipsy and becoming absolutely shit faced.

“Yes. Will you be alright? When is Alex coming? I’ll wait until he gets here.”

“Yeahh, yeahhh.” George’s friend gave him a dismissive wave, “He should be here anyyy minute.”

George watched on in amusement as his friend downed another shot, completely unphased by the taste. A satisfied, light smile settled on Nick’s face- the unmistakable look of someone who would not remember any of this tomorrow.

“Holy shit. He’s fucked up bad.” George swiveled around on his bar stool, the old worn leather cracking beneath his shifting weight. Unsurprisingly, Alex was dressed in black from head to toe. The grey beanie on his head unsuccessfully containing his dark curls from spilling out the sides.

“Yeah, sorry about that… I should’ve been watching him better.” Alex and George looked over at Nick, who had, not so gracefully, made his way over to the dance floor.

George pitied the fool who got in his way.

“It’s all good. Only fair, anyways. I blacked out last time and he took care of me, so I guess it’s time to return the favor.”

George stood up from his seat, and grabbed the beer bottle off the table, “Here’s a beer to help you cope.”

The cool glass was a stark contrast to George’s warm hand, but was welcomed nonetheless. George always felt somewhat suffocated by the heat that was radiating throughout the room.

Alex took the bottle from him and immediately took a sip, stifling a grimace. “This shit tastes like warm piss.”

George shrugged, pulling on his jean jacket, “It’s Miller Lite, what did you expect?”

“Miller Lite? George c’mon… I know you’re a struggling college student, but you can shovel out a few more dollars for a better beer.”

George rolled his eyes, “Oh shut up. You’re welcome by the way, because even if it tastes like,” he paused, “warm piss, at least now you don’t have to spend as much money on beer tonight. I’m really doing you a favor, here.”

“Touche, my friend, touche.” Alex raised the bottle towards him in a cheers manner, before taking another sip.

“Are you leaving already? I just got here.” The infamous Alex pout that was accompanied by the rounded eyes, and scrunched eyebrows appeared on his face- a look that George had become all too familiar with and entranced by.

George clicked his tongue, “not going to work tonight, man. Sorry, I’m really tired.” Alex gave him an understanding nod and pat on the shoulder.

“You’ll text when you get home, though?”

“Yeah of course, man. You will too, right?” George raised his brow, knowing that Alex was the absolute worst at letting him know when he got home, causing too many frantic texts and calls to him as well as his friends and family.

“I…” Alex took a breath, “will try my best. But no promises.”

“Yeah,” George muttered, “I figured. Have a good night though, and I’d cut Nick off soon…” The two of them looked on at Nick again who had managed to push his way to the front of the crowd and was now on stage next to the dj yelling something about how he was going to crowd surf as the people in front of him were rapidly dispersing, leaving a concerning sized hole between him and the floor.

Alex’s eyes widened as Nick turned around, giving Alex and George a clear view of his backside with his arms raised towards the sky. “I should…”

“No, yeah. You should go.” George laughed, “like right now.”

George watched on as Alex pushed his way through the stacks of people, all too oblivious of the potential accident that was unfolding before their very eyes. All lost in their own little worlds. Some engaged in conversation, others dancing with their eyes closed, arms and bodies following the rhythm of the music so flawlessly it was like it was a part of them.

George felt a wave of sadness wash over him and swallow him whole, the familiar ache in his chest bubbling up to the surface like he was a shaken soda can, threatening to explode at any minute.

His nights always seemed to end like this. Like he was missing out on something big.

Like he was missing out on the best times of his life.

The little voice in his head was edging him on, _stay, stay, stay_. But George knew that even when he gave into the voice, he was destined to have a disappointing end to his night. And so as he made his way across the floor and out the door, the voice in his head got quieter, more faint, until it was nothing but a whisper in the wind.

George wrapped his jacket tightly around him, the October evenings in the city getting colder each day. George stepped out off the curb, arm raised in the air, as he flagged down the yellow car that plagued the city.

“Where to?”

“544 Unio-” George was unexpectedly cut off when the door of the taxi cab flew open, inviting the cold outside air in along with an uninvited stranger.

“Um excuse me?”

The intruder took a split glance at George, before breathlessly saying, “The Rumpus Room, please.”

“Wait, what? No…No, not the Rumpus Room. Hello? Are you even listening to me?” George gestured wildly to the taxi driver who only pointed at his airpods and gave a disinterested shrug.

“Pardon, but what the hell are you doing?”

The blonde boy turned to George at last, amusement dancing across his face, the youthfulness and soft features illuminated by the bright lights.

The green eyes were the first thing George noticed. Bright and alive, coursing with heightened energy. A reflection of the city itself.

Then it was the blonde, slightly matted down hair.

And then the burnt, brown freckles that could only mean that someone had spent too much time in the sun. Odd. Nothing about him screamed New York at all.

He was nothing like the kids George saw on the streets: heads low, eyes refusing to make contact, the slouched shoulders, as if something about living in the city had completely sucked the life out of everyone.

George understood it though, and he too often felt like the city was draining everything from him in order to keep itself running.

“British, eh?” The boy ripped open a piece of gum, breaking the silence that had formed and stuck it in his mouth, chewing loudly.

Spearmint.

George could smell it from where he sat- purposefully as far away as possible.

The boy took another glance at George, his eyes widening, “Oh you are much too sober for a 20-something kid on a Friday night in New York City.”

George searched the kid’s face, who couldn’t be any older than 21, in incredulous disbelief. “Who are you?”

“I’m…” a pause.

“Dream.” He said at last.

“Dream? More like a nightmare,” George muttered quietly enough so only he could hear it.

“What about you?” The boy raised an eyebrow, “What’s your name?”

“George.”

Dream let out a contemplative hum. “Hm. Makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dunno,” Dream shrugged, “seems like a pretty British name.”

“Well what the hell kind of name is Dream?” George spat back, surprised by the sudden flare of anger.

The amusement that Dream had on his face when he first entered the car remained. Like he was enjoying making George uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s not my real name, obviously.”

_Obviously._

“Well… can I know your real name then?”

“Maybe… we’ll see how the night goes.” Dream shot George a wink. A sudden rush of heat filled his cheeks, as George silently begged for that cold outside air.

“I’m not going out with you.”

“Eh.” Dream looked George up and down. “You’re not really my type anyways.”

George nearly opened the door and hurled himself out the side; the damage from the fall couldn’t be any worse than what George was feeling currently.

“What I meant was that I am not doing anything with you. After you get dropped off at the Rumpus Room or whatever, I will be going back to my apartment, and going to bed. Which is where I should be now.”

“But that’s so… boring.” George caught Dream’s eye, his expression flickering between amusement and contemplation.

“Spend the night with me. I promise it’ll be the best night of your life.”

George bit down onto his bottom lip, mouth set in an upturned smirk. “Spend the night with you? You’re not really my type.” George retorted without missing a beat.

Dream’s face lifted in surprise, before opening up into a wide smile, his green eyes shining.

“Touchè.” He nodded to himself and let out a small laugh, “touchè.”

Pride snuck up on George and tackled him in a bear hug as his body flushed with warmth and some sort of newfound satisfaction.

“Rumpus Room.” The taxi driver weakly waved them out. George stayed put in his seat, though his hand wavered over the seatbelt, a silent giveaway to his internal conflict.

“You coming with?” Dream’s eyes glistened with eagerness, a spark of curiosity glowed brightly below.

George closed his eyes and imagined himself at home in bed, wrapped tightly in his comforter, his cat fast asleep at his feet. Soon enough though, the feeling he had become too aware of over the past few months creeped up on him and settled deep within his chest.

George thought about the loneliness that had become such a frequent visitor, it wouldn’t be a surprise if it suddenly built four walls and a roof and made a home inside him. It was the type of loneliness that enveloped a person and fed off them until they were nothing more than a hollow shell.

There was no one else to blame except himself, of course. George had come to the city much like all the others with big dreams and high hopes, soon realizing all the glitter was not gold. If it wasn’t for Alex and Nick, George probably would have moved back home.

George looked back to Dream, who looked very much full and very much alive.

“So… is that a yes?”

***

20 minutes later George found himself on his third shot of some horrible vodka that Dream claimed to be “on the house.” George was almost sure it was laced with something, his eyes swimming with the vibrations of the music loudly thumping over the speakers.

“So George...” Dream’s voice sounded muffled and far away in George’s ear like he was far under the water, nowhere near the surface where Dream stood.

“George?” George lifted the sleeve of his jean jacket over the palm of his hand, rubbing the stiff fabric against his eyes, as he attempted to refocus them. George blinked back a few tears that had formed from the rough denim, before turning toward Dream.

“Yes, Dream?” The two words came out with maximum effort. George’s tongue sat heavily in his mouth.

“Oh my…” Dream scanned George’s face, “you’re cut off for at least an hour.”

George’s eyes followed Dream in what felt like slow motion as Dream lifted a hand and mouthed the word “water” to the bartender.

Dream himself looked amazingly sober, his fantastical childlike demeanor never fading for even a second.

Dream finally turned his attention back to George, waving the water bottle in his face.

“Here. Drink.”

The cold rush of water caught George by surprise, the liquid silky and smooth working quickly to cool down his body. George rested the bottle next to his cheek, which he could only guess had blossomed into something very pink.

“Better?”

“Mhmm.” A second later, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Can’t have you blacking out before we even get started.” Dream smiled.

George noticed he had dimples. The small, but deep kind that George knew assisted Dream in everything he did. With a smile like that, George was almost positive Dream could get away with anything. Hell, he was proof of it.

“God,” George moaned, the third shot finally hitting him like a brick. “What else do you have in store?”

“Ah now that wouldn’t be much fun if I just told you. Where’s the excitement in that?”

“Maybe no excitement, but how do I know you’re not going to murder me or something.”

“Well, do I look like a murderer, George?”

“No, but neither did Ted Bundy, and we all know how that ended.”

“Fair enough…” Dream bit into the bottom of his lip, “But I’d never kill a pretty boy like you.”

George didn’t think it was possible for him to get any warmer, but heat rushed back into his body, starting at his cheeks and traveling all the way down to his toes.

Any hotter and he might just burst into flames.

_Pretty boy._

“Thought I wasn’t your type?”

Dream’s lips quirked up into a smile, “Just because you’re not my type, doesn’t mean I can’t state a fact.”

_A fact._

“George?” Dream moved his face closer to George’s, his voice lined with concern. The sudden change of tone infringed his normally joking timbre.

“If you’re really worried about me, I don’t know what to say except I wouldn’t hurt you- I won’t hurt you.”

And for some reason, George believed him. Perhaps it was the alcohol or just the events of the night so far that had made George completely lose all his inhibitions.

His brain felt fuzzy, but not in the way that he was used to. Not when he was drinking with Nick or Alex, or when he was high; It wasn’t the kind of fuzzy that made him feel powerless. Rather he felt light, airy.

_Free._

“Okay.” Was all George said to Dream.

“Okay then.”

***

“Karaoke? You’re kidding.” George and Dream were standing outside a smaller club, the neon sign casted blue and purple lights across Dream’s beaming face.

“Not kidding.”

“There’s no way…” But George found himself being led in despite his protests with Dream’s hand held firmly in his.

George was immediately welcomed by an extremely out of tune rendition of Harry Styles’ Sign of the Times, soon interrupted by the squealing sound of feedback on the mic. George couldn’t decide which was worse.

Actually he could.

And it was the Harry Styles’ cover.

Whatever Dream had planned next, if it involved another club, George was going to have to politely decline. He wasn’t sure he could take much more of the bass that pounded so heavily in his head, it seeped down into his heart. His heart and the bass beating as one.

George found himself being tugged along by Dream again who was talking about picking out a song or something. George wasn’t really listening.

The pictures on the wall held his attention. Hundreds of framed pictures, all in various shapes and sizes, were home to images of different celebrities who had come in for some karaoke.

How weird.

He couldn’t imagine being famous and knowing how many people and places had his picture hung up on a wall or tightly enclosed in a glass frame.

Watched constantly with profound respect, inspiration, hatred, annoyance- any or all of the above.

“Hey George?” George lifted his eyes, scanning past the portraits and landing on Dream.

“Yes?”

“What song should we sing? I was thinking about One Directio- ” George made a face, his nose turned upwards in a scrunch.

“... Or maybe not! Um hm…” Dream ruffled through the pieces of paper which listed hundreds of different songs.

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

“I listen to anything.”

“Well clearly not anything.” Dream bit back.

“I’m much too sober for this if I’m being completely honest.” The shots from the bar had worn off and left nothing but a slight buzz. George’s head had nearly cleared and he was all too aware of everything to be singing anything.

Dream looked at him and grinned, “Yeah? I think we can do something about that.”

“You’ll match me though, right?” George raised an eyebrow, making sure Dream wouldn’t let him make a fool of himself alone.

“You ask like I even need alcohol, but yes sure, if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

So there they sat, taking shot for shot, until any fears George had subsided, the two of them laughing and falling over themselves with uncontained joy.

Blurred vision, beating hearts, loosened inhibitions.

George and Dream stumbled their way up to the front of the room and onto the stage, grasping onto each other for support. The amount of people in the audience had thinned slightly but was still relatively large. If George wasn’t absolutely hammered, he was sure he would have found a way to talk himself out of it.

Whether it was the shots, or Dream, George felt strangely comfortable, though, his adrenaline pumping alongside the alcohol that was running through his veins.

George looked out to the room, the people and faces lined with blurred edges. Dream had returned to his side.

“Keep your eyes on me.” Dream winked, his own face flushed with a redness from being burned by the alcohol.

George wasn’t sure what song Dream had picked until he heard the familiar guitar riff and cowbell percussion parts of what could only be…

“I thought we said no One Direction?”

“Actually, you said no One Direction. I never agreed to that.”

George rolled his eyes half-heartedly, joining in with a begrudging obligation to not leave Dream hanging.

_You’re insecure, don’t know what for…_   
_You’re turning heads when you walk through the door…_

Dream’s voice lifted above George’s in an annoyingly perfect tone. George was not at all surprised that Dream was good at singing.

George kept his attention focused on Dream whose eyes were closed as he screamed the chorus of the song. Loud and unashamed.

_Keep your eyes on me._

As if George would have eyes for anyone else.

A certain amount of exhilaration and enthusiasm rushed through George’s body as he joined in screaming the chorus with Dream until his voice was scratchy with raw soreness.

Dream opened his eyes on the final chorus, locking them with George’s.

_… Right now I’m looking at you, and I can’t believe_

Intensity coursed through the green of Dream’s eyes, sparking a fervent heat.

_You don’t know, oh-oh_   
_You don’t know you’re beautiful, oh-oh_   
_You don’t know you’re beautiful, oh-oh_   
_That’s what makes you beautiful_

A polite scatter of applause filled the room when the song finished.

“You’re the best.” Dream smiled at George, his lips pink and fleshy, his eyes glazed over with subtle redness.

It was the sincerity in Dream’s voice that made George glow with warmed fondness.

“You wanna go again?”

“Hell yeah.”

***

The few hours of karaoke left the boys with coarse voices and full hearts. George could feel himself growing tired, his eyelids weighing down on him like a ton of steel.

“Hey hey, I’ve got a few more things for us to do.” Dream nudged him, searching his face.

“Fuck, I just want to sleep.” George groaned, placing the top of his forehead on the cool tiled table, his arms crossed beneath the bridge of his nose for support.

The previous drunkenness that he thought he had tired out, creeped back on him and joined his current drunkenness to finish him off with a one-two punch.

“You have your entire life to sleep, George. C’mon, I know something that’ll wake you up…”

George turned his head and opened one eye, “Pizza?”

Dream laughed softly, his dimples rounding into deep crescent shapes, “Not exactly what I was thinking, but yeah, yes we can certainly do that. I know the best place to go.”

“Yeah?” George asked quietly. His eyes fluttered shut, the cool tile relaxing his body. The pounding of his heart and the beat of his breast became more shallow, as if he was wading in his own breathing, his breath rolling in like waves.

“C’mon George.” Dream gently tugged at George’s elbow, his touch pulling George back to reality- grounding him. Like he was making sure that his feet were planted firmly in the sand.

George reluctantly stood up.

His head was heavy, cloudy, weighted.

His eyes were glazed over creating two blurry planes. He blinked, and the two of them came together to form one cohesive, clear image.

“You okay?” Dream looked down at him with concern, his hand still placed beneath his elbow for support.

“Yes. Yeah, let’s go.”

Nothing sobered a person up better than walking outside and being greeted by the cold air. It was striking and breathtaking.

George took a deep breath and inhaled the crispness.

He let it consume him.

Let it numb him.

And just like that, his head felt a million times lighter; the cold cut through the fog- lifting it.

George exhaled, the shadow of his breath made visible by the white cloud that followed, and soon evaporated into the dark of the night.

“Better?”

“Much.”

George and Dream walked together in comfortable silence, the sounds from the various buildings they passed blending together in an orchestral way- the heavy bass of the numerous clubs transforming into the low and deep brass section, the small talk and laughter transforming into the delicate and light strings section.

The sounds of their footsteps on the pavement created a steady tempo to facilitate the movement of the music, the both of them syncopated in a two-step dance.

“Right around the corner here.” Dream gestured to his right, slicing the silence in half.

“Dream.”

“Yes George?”

“You’re not serious, right?”

Dream was seemingly testing the limits of George’s (apparently) very flexible levels of trust and putting him in situations that were just a step or two outside of his comfort zone.

This time it was the menacingly dark alleyway that Dream was telling George he’d have to go down to get pizza. George silently weighed the pros and cons, which was interrupted by the low growl of his stomach and an intense pining for food.

“Promise you it’s the best pizza you’ll ever have.”

Dream held out his hand for George, who grabbed it with only a mere moment of hesitation.

“So is this where you kill me?”

Dream let out a chuckle, “Already told you you were too pretty to kill.”

A ten second pause.

“Especially now.”

_Especially now._

Dream smirked in response to George’s scrunched brows and his expression that exhibited blatant signs of confusion.

“The little pink in your cheeks.” Dream pulled him in and lifted his hand to George’s face, tentatively brushing over his cheek.

His fingertips were cold and blue, the complete opposite of George’s increasingly hot and red face.

A shiver ran down George’s spine, though not from the cold, and left chilled goosebumps in its wake.

“Yeah.” Dream clicked his tongue and turned away from George. “Much too pretty.”

George was sure his rosy cheeks had reddened, a fire alit beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure what it was about Dream that made him feel like this, or how to put it out.

He wasn’t even positive that he wanted it out.

Maybe it was the alcohol that still lingered in his system that was burning him.

Maybe there was a part of him that ever since meeting Dream was subtly catching fire.

George didn’t know what to make of it.

Dream didn’t leave him too much time to think of it, though, the hand that was slightly warmed from touching George’s face pulling him along through the alley. At the end of it, a faint red-ish green light glowed inconspicuously.

They walked past darkened windows, broken doors. George could’ve sworn he saw a rat. Soon enough though, they reached the end of the alley.

“Open 24 Hours” was illuminated before them, the small white building placed snugly in the corner of the alleyway, well lit- a stunning contrast to the forbidding darkness that surrounded them.

“Hey Joe,” Dream waved to the man behind the counter. He appeared to be the only one working.

“Clay! Long time no see.”

George whipped his eyes from Joe to Dream whose face flickered with slight indignation.

_Clay._

“Who’s the friend?”

Dream cleared his throat, turning to George, “George, Joe. Joe, George.”

George smiled politely, but wasn’t completely oblivious to the sudden switch in energies. A feeling of stifled tension radiated off of Dream.

“The usual, then?”

Dream turned to George, “I usually just get fresh mozzarella and spinach.”

“I’ll have the same,” he said to Joe, pulling out a wad of singles from his pocket. Feeling crisp beneath his fingertips.

“Oh, it’s on the house.” Joe dismissed the bills with a single wave before going to the back of the small store and starting on the pizza.

Dream had become uncharacteristically quiet, his face showing muted contemplation.

“So how’d you find out about this place?” George asked after some time.

“Used to work here.” Dream responded quietly. George wasn’t sure if he was mistaking the tone of his voice for nostalgia or sadness. Maybe a little bit of both.

“Ah…” George’s attention stayed on Dream, silently asking him to look at him. He wasn’t sure what triggered Dream, or if the name drop had made him suddenly shy, but George didn’t think he liked the reason as to why.

Dream continued to stare ahead, fixated on the menu in front of him.

“Hey.” George grabbed onto Dream’s hand pulling him back to him, as Dream had already done so many times for him that night.

Dream turned to face him, his eyes a clouded moss- not the bright lively green George had grown accustomed to.

George had realized he and Dream had somehow found themselves in unfamiliar territory, and that somewhere a line had been crossed.

“You okay?” was all that George could offer. Dream nodded, though it wasn’t very reassuring.

“Two mozzarella and spinach pizzas.” Joe sang, before handing George a box whose bottom had already captured the heat off the slices.

“Thank you.” Dream didn’t say anything as they walked back through the alley from the way they came.

The light behind them fading fast as the darkness swallowed them whole.

The comfortable silence that previously welcomed them had transformed into something of discomfort and oddity, an invisible wall wedging its way between Dream and George.

George kept his eyes in front of him, when familiarity struck. The two of them had found themselves near Sunset Park, an area where George, Nick, and Alex would often come to smoke.

“Hey wait. Let’s go this way.” George flipped his head to the left, the opposite direction of the gleaming lights of the city that beckoned to them.

Dream, still unbearably quiet, followed him submissively. Followed him through the park, through the alley, only questioning when George stopped in front of an old rusted ladder. The footprints of George and his friends embedded into the iron forever.

“Up here?” Dream asked doubtfully, internally determining the safety of the ladder.

“Mhmm. I’ll climb up first.” George handed Dream the box of pizza. Though once hot to the touch, was now a temperature that could only be described as lukewarm.

George gripped the ladder, cooled by the frigid air, and hoisted himself up. His legs held him steady with unwavering strength.

“Okay. Now hand me the pizza.” George shifted his weight to the right side of body, turning a 30 degree angle and held out his hand until the paper box sat comfortably between his thumb and fingers.

George pushed himself up two more rings on the ladder until he could see the top of the roof, gently placing the box down.

One final push and George broke the surface of the roof to see the expansive view before him. It always left him in awe.

He hoped it had the same effect on Dream.

“Okay… are you ready to come up now?” George looked down to see Dream’s feet still planted firmly on the ground, clearly in no rush to get up.

“I- um…have a tiny fear of heights.” Dream looked up sheepishly, a shade of rosy pink intruding on his usual tanned skin- highlighted brightly across his cheeks.

George understood it now. Understood when Dream had told him _especially now… the little pink in your cheeks._

There was just something so innocent and sweet about it.

George smiled softly, feeling somewhat proud that he was making Dream do something that was out of his limit. The person who was seemingly fearless, threatened by a few steps.

“It’s fine. Totally safe. I’ve done this a million times.” George extended his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Dream inhaled deeply, placing his hands on the rings, slowly making his way up, inch by inch.

When he was close enough to grab onto George’s hand, he was lifted up easily by George. And when his eyes finally passed the concrete wall…

Silence. Awe.

George studied the look on Dream’s face when he finally reached the top. Immediate satisfaction at the sight of Dream’s widened eyes and slightly parted lips.

George swore he could feel the almost imperceptible intake of breath from Dream before the view took it away, leaving him breathless.

He knew the feeling. He also felt that when he first came out here. The city spread out before him in a stunning display.

“Wow.” Dream breathed, entranced by the thousands of lights gleaming down on them like the eyes of a calico cat, blinking tiredly.

“The city that never sleeps.” George muttered quietly, sitting down with the pizza box placed off to his left.

“I never really understood that, honestly.” Dream turned to George. “The city does sleep. It’s asleep right now, can’t you feel it?”

He sat beside George, his knees pulled up tightly to his chest, his arms wrapped around them in a gentle hug.

“Close your eyes.”

So George did.

_Can’t you feel it?_

George let his breath steady. At first, the only thing he could feel were the vibrations of the cars, the clubs, and the people. But then, beneath it all, a slow and anchored rhythm- pulsing and unwavering; below that, a tired, worn down heart beat subdued by that rolling breath.

“Feels different, doesn’t it?” Dream whispered faintly, his own eyes closed. “The city sleeps. It’s just that no one ever seems to take the time to notice.”

Dream met George’s eyes, a small smile spread lazily across his face. George could tell a weight had shifted off of Dream, though his demeanor still felt slightly guarded, his body coiled up tightly.

“So.” George lamented. “Clay.”

Tension returned.

“Talk to me.” George took a bite out of his pizza.

“About what?”

“Anything.” His response muffled by the food.

And Dream, who seemed to never run out of things to say, went silent.

“You tell me about yourself.” Dream countered, gazing at George.

“Well…” George took another bite. “Not too much to know about me.”

“Oh sure there is. You’re a british boy in New York City. Tell me about how you got here.”

George wiped the side of his mouth with his sleeve, the red sauce leaving a stain.

“I don’t know. I felt a draw to it, I guess you could say. Like I was supposed to be here, but the city…”

“... eats you alive?” Dream finished.

“Yeah. Yeah, exactly. I felt like I had to get out of my hometown or I’d be stuck there forever doing some menial job that I hated. So I took off a year and worked my ass off so I could afford university, though God knows I’ll still be thousands of dollars in debt. And at first… at first, it was good. Being here, in the city, it made me feel alive again. Like something had awakened inside me.” George let out a chuckle, the lightness of it tainted with a poisoned bitterness.

“I know that sounds cliche and dumb, but-”

“No.” Dream reassured, “No. Not at all. I get it.”

“But it really was like an enlightenment. And now, my third year being here, I just feel sort of empty. Like something was sucked out of me- some sort of purpose.”

George lifted his eyes to Dream’s who was staring at him with increased intensity, his green eyes blazing.

“Do you know what the penrose steps are?” George asked, turning his eyes away from Dream, though he could still feel them on him.

As if he was sitting there completely exposed.

“Uh…are those in New York?”

George bit his lip to keep from smiling, “No. No they’re like an optical illusion of sorts. It’s a staircase that has four 90 degree angles as they ascend or descend, but form a continuous loop so although it may feel like you’re walking up or down, you’re really just going in a circle.”

Dream nodded his head thoughtfully, “so is that what life feels like for you right now?”

“Pretty much. Just feels like I’ve trapped myself and I’m not exactly sure how to get out.”

Dream fell quiet again, his eyes to the sky as if the answers would be scribbled out across the stars.

“Have you heard the story of Icarus?” Dream asked at last, his eyes still turned upwards towards the sky.

“The Greek myth?” George had heard of it sure, but wasn’t really familiar with it.

“Mhmm… Yeah. So basically a dad and his son, that’s Icarus, were trapped on an island, Crete. The father was some incredible craftsman and so he tried to figure out how to get off the island and created these wings that were covered in wax. And the day they decided to leave was a beautiful day. A sunny day. So they jump out a window and by some miracle these wings worked, right? But Icarus, he got a little carried away and flew up above the clouds where the sun was the hottest. You can guess what happens next…”

“Icarus falls?”

“Bingo. The sun, obviously melting the wax, caused him to fall to his death.”

“Well, that’s… pretty tragic.”

“Sure is. The father was overwhelmed with grief, obviously. But…” Dream paused, biting the tip of his nail, “but I think there’s a lot to learn from it.”

Dream looked at George, his eyes ablaze with the same intensity as before. “Our goals could be compared to the sun, yeah? And sometimes we try our absolute hardest to reach those goals- because of pride, ego, persistence, whatever the reason, we’d do anything in our power to reach them. But at the end of the day we get burned- scorched.”

“So?” George’s face plainly lit with confusion.

“So sometimes we have to just… let go and live. Just live in the moment and take every day as it comes.”

“But there’s no purpose in that.”

“George. Life isn’t all about finding a purpose. Life is meant to be lived- you’re meant to experience new things, new people, new places. Sometimes you’ll fail, sometimes you’ll get hurt.”

“But that’s what I’m scared of.”

“You like being in control, right? You like having a plan?”

“Yeah I guess.”

“And when that plan goes awry, you panic. You feel powerless?”

George nodded, emotionless.

“Giving up your power and surrendering yourself to life is the single most powerful thing you can do.”

“Is that what you did?” George bit back, his words laced with accusation and doubt. The sudden flare of resentment doused by the knowledge that Dream was probably right. All his life George had followed a strict plan. And look where that got him…

Dream made a sour face, “I’m working on it.”

“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?”

A surprising softness infiltrated Dream’s voice.

“Well, I met you.” Dream flicked his eyes up to meet George’s. “So pretty okay, I guess.”

George fell silent, the rapid beating of his heart slowing by the second. The rigidity and obstinacy that shrouded him for years were cracking beneath the surface. The poorly supported plan threatened to fall apart instantaneously.

But George didn’t really want to let go of it. Not yet. He found comfort in it, security, reliability. That his life, the plan he made, was the only thing that ever made sense to him.

Until it didn’t.

Until Dream.

“How do I…” George closed his eyes for a brief second, breathing deeply.

“How do I do it? I can’t imagine just… giving up.”

“No one said you had to give up, George. You can still have some sort of plan… It’s a balance. Finish school, but take advantage of every opportunity that you come across. Maybe work a little and then take off for a couple of months and travel. It will be scary, it was scary for me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm…” Dream said, no indication that he’d expand on it. George wasn’t sure if he would continue. Dream made it painfully obvious that he didn’t like talking about himself. But maybe…

“Clay.” George attempted again.

“Don’t call me that.” His tone was suddenly harsh, blackened and hardened with distaste.

“Why not?” George asked carefully, trying not to push Dream too hard.

“Clay’s a loser.”

“Clay.” George repeated.

Dream refused to meet his eyes.

“Look at me.” George whispered, reaching his hand up to place delicately underneath Dream’s chin.

“You are not a loser.” Dream attempted to move his head, but George’s hand was set securely below, holding him there.

George looked into Dream’s eyes, the words he wanted to say reflected in the verdant green. The words George couldn’t quite place in a way that could reassure Dream. All these words and nothing…

They just sat upon his tongue, lifeless.

_Amazing? Incredible? One-of-a-kind? Exuberant?_

None of them felt right.

“You…” George bit into the bottom of his lip until it was tender and raw.

“You’re magic, Dream. Just pure magic. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, so full of life. So courageous, and strong, and brave. In just one night, you’ve made _me_ feel more alive than I ever have. That was you…that was _Clay_. And Clay is _not_ a loser. Not in the slightest.”

“No… that’s _Dream_. Clay is a loser.” Dream repeated, his voice hoarse with a throbbing redness.

“You have to give yourself more credit, Clay. You don’t have to hide behind this facade you’ve created with this Dream character.” George felt fatigued with a need to make Dream understand how he saw him.

“And what about you, George? You act like I’m the only one here who is having issues with themselves when you walk around with a blanket of self pity wrapped around you. From the moment I got into that taxi, I could sense the self-loathing all over you. And because what? Your life didn’t turn out how you thought it would?”

George pulled his hand from underneath Dream’s chin, swelling from the sting of his words.

Dream’s eyes softened, his voice becoming docile in an attempt to stop the moment from fleeing.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that you’re telling me how wonderful I am, when I know, I _know_ you feel similarly to how I do. That a part of you feels like you’ve failed, when you haven’t. Because when I look at you, I see this amazing person. A just… good person, who I don’t think could ever do any wrong in their life. _You_ have to give yourself more credit for the person you are despite what the world has given you in return.”

George didn’t really know what to say. Had it been that obvious? The self-loathing? The ever present feeling of incompetence because he felt like something was wrong with him for not seeing the city as everyone else did?

George thought about all the times he had made comments about the lifeless eyes, the hollowed shells that he saw everyday in the city. Did he fail to notice that he had turned into one, too?

But then tonight, and with the help of Dream, a little part of him had finally returned.

“I’m just saying,” Dream continued, his voice still so soft with a tenderness that could only come from a place of deep admiration. “You’re amazing.”

“So are you.” George turned to him, hoping to see that self doubt vanish from his eyes. “You are. And I say that with… with everything in me.”

George lowered his voice, “You are not a loser.”

Dream sighed with feigned resignation.

“Clay is, though. Clay is the loser who left his hometown and everyone else behind and moved to a city that doesn’t care about him or anyone else. The loser who moved to a city where the people don’t care about him or anyone else. The city that eats you up and spits you out until you’re nothing but fragments of who you were before. I have tried…” Dream paused, the back of his throat scratchy with a restrained ache. Though his words were less cruel and more worn down in a tired forfeit.

“I have _tried_ to find myself again. But this city, this fucking city, it takes everything from you.”

George sat there in quiet rumination, thinking about that first meeting with Dream that felt so long ago. How he had looked at him.

_Very much full and very much alive._

Now he looked at the person sitting in front of him. A person who was a little bit broken. A little bit hurt.

And George thought he could say, in the most selfish way possible, that he liked Dream all the more now. He felt guilty for it- the familiar, unwelcomed knot tangling up in his stomach. But knowing Dream wasn’t this, this happy-go-lucky, glass-half-full person was tragically reassuring.

That initial meeting made George feel somewhat inferior. That this kid seemed to be so excited about life- like he was someone who found a way to take life by its horns and just enjoy every moment of it.

Something George had longed for, prayed for, _begged_ for, for so many years but with no success. And then this boy comes along with everything figured out. Or at the very least, that he was actually enjoying his life.

But in typical New York fashion, the city had taken him as another victim- the scars deeply rooted, soiled with dirty pride and an attempt to prove the world wrong.

“I think…” George took a breath. “I think the only way you can be a loser is if you view life as a game. Because when you attempt to play the game of life you will lose. I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, that you… you need to take your own advice. That you have some things to unlearn yourself.”

George looked over to Dream, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line. Though God knew where the line was or if it even existed.

When Dream didn’t say anything nor meet his eyes George continued. “It just feels as though you’ve been trying to manipulate life- somehow outplay it, outsmart it. Your spontaneity could be seen, instead, as a conscious attempt to trick the universe. I do agree... ” George pursed his lips, “that there needs to be a balance.”

Silence. Nothing but breathless air in the space between them.

“I was like you.” Dream said at last. “I had my entire life planned out. From graduating high school, to college, to my career, hell even down to who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I had it all written down in an imaginary book, when one thing- _one_ fucking thing went wrong. So I torched it- I torched the book. And when the ashes and dust finally settled I realized I couldn’t live my life like that.”

“What was the thing?”

George was filled with instant regret when he met Dream’s eyes. Tinged with a sadness that was so blue, so raw, so _hurt_. George felt his stomach tighten and his heart clench.

He knew what that pain was, felt it himself a couple years ago before he had left for New York. Knew it could only be from a type of heartbreak that was so immobilizing and debilitating, the wound would forever be fleshy and tender to the touch.

George wished he hadn’t asked.

“Not important…” Dream turned away, blocking himself from George once again, protecting himself.

“But after that happened, I booked a flight and came here. Clearly,” an embittered chuckle, “I didn’t think it through because I was dirt poor and the only dirt you see here is the filthy rich. Anyways, Joe- the pizza guy, helped me out and gave me a job. Let me live in the tiny apartment above the pizza shop until I figured something out. Spoiler alert, I never figured something out.”

Embarrassment hidden beneath a layer of bitterness.

“But I couldn’t keep working for Joe. It just didn’t feel right. He did a lot for me, and at this point I was living for free, so I had a decent amount of money saved up. Bought myself my own shitty apartment, and now well, here we are.”

_Here we are._

And then Dream started to laugh. Loud, boisterous laughter, the kind that had him clutching his chest and gasping for air.

“Jesus Christ is that fucking depressing, huh? Here we are just two kids with absolutely no clue what to do next.”

While Dream seemed to want to nudge the conversation into a different direction, perhaps hoping to leave that tired, heavy environment, George felt a small amount of satisfaction at the resolution the two of them had come to. The both of them baring their chests to each other and to the city.

George came to the same conclusion that he started the conversation with, though. Clay, Dream, whoever the person in front of him was, was not a loser.

Nowhere near it.

And then George thought about the other thing. The other big thing that hung in the balance between them.

The silent, but ever present longing that had snuck up on George over the course of the night- an unprecedented visitor.

George thought Dream felt the same.

And so there it hung in the space between, waiting patiently for one of them to act on it. Slowly burning.

“Dream.”

“George?”

“Would you actually hate it if I called you Clay?”

A smile, the dimples, the green eyes- slowly but surely returning to their emerald color, looked back at him.

And George had his answer.

“I kind of like it when you call me that.”

“I think it fits you well.” George instinctively reached up to Dream’s face and brushed away a piece of his golden locks.

_Clay._

It brought George back to his trip to Arizona, one of his favorite trips of all time. The red and orange hardened clay swirled with some electrifying magic as he drove through the desert, the heat waves just beyond his dash, pulsing with charged energy from the sun.

George saw that same energy in Dream.

“I think you could make me fall in love with it all over again…” Dream turned his body into George’s, staring intensely.

“...Think you could make me do a lot of things.”

George’s breath hitched in the back of his throat. A spark traveled through his blood, his bones, like it was following a wire searching for the matchbox. The final step in setting it off.

The final step before it all burned.

Dream was now only inches away from George’s face. His breath a welcomed whisper of warmth.

“Kiss me.”

Said so intimately, so quietly George almost missed it.

_Kiss me._

“I know you want to.”

So when George felt that fire light up again he didn’t try to conceal it or snuff it out. No.

He felt it consume him.

And he let himself burn.

The kiss obliterated him. It was like coming home or suddenly finding an entire part of him that had been missing.

Dream’s lips were hot against his- still timid, cautious. He pulled away, wanting to look George in the eyes.

Wanting to watch him burn.

George pulled him back, red with a fiery lust to set Dream aflame with him.

***

“Are you opposed to doing one last thing?” Dream ran his hands through George’s hair, pressing his lips against the top of his head.

“Well... No. But I’m afraid to ask what you have in mind…” George angled his head up to look at Dream, who was still amazingly swathed with youthful vigor. Not a trace of any kind of tiredness visible on that pretty face of his.

“You’re all I have in mind.” Dream let out a breathy laugh. “But it’s nothing bad or extreme or anything. Just something that I’ve wanted to do for awhile.”

“Hmm…”

“We don’t have to.” Dream interjected quickly.

“No, no. I’m down. Besides, I don’t think I want the night to end yet…”

George was well past the point of exhaustion, and had made his way to near delirium but the thought of ending his time with Dream was enough to push him through.

“You truly are the best, did you know that?” Dream mused, ruffling George’s hair once more.

“I think it’s more like you bring out the best in me.”

“Oh come on now, George. What did we just talk about… you have to give yourself credit for who you are. I didn’t do anything.”

George didn’t argue, but he knew deep down it was true; Dream did bring out the best of him. He silently worried what it’d be like when Dream was gone, knowing he wouldn’t always be around. George didn’t really want to think about it though, didn’t want this moment to end.

“So what’s next?”

“Are you ready to go?”

_No._

“Yes.” George took one more moment to look out at the city in front of him. It was early morning now and the normal sounds of the city were revving up as the sun brushed the skyline in a purple, pink haze.

It all felt incredibly dreamy. Surreal.

Dream looked on at George with wonder and fondness, holding his hand out for him to take whenever he was ready.

***

“A tarot card reading?”

Dream grinned back at him. “Mhmm! Thought we could both use it… see what the stars had in store for us. Maybe a little less trying to play life, ya know?”

George followed Dream up the creaking, semi-splintered, red wooden steps into the little building, a bell tinkering as they walked in. He was hit immediately with the smell of incense. Robust, pungent.

A young girl came out from behind a beaded curtain, her black hair braided down her back.

“Oh, hi! You guys here for a tarot card reading?”

Dream and George looked at each other, then back to the girl and nodded.

“Alright, I’ll take blondie back first, if you just want to wait in here.” She gestured over to the little room to the side, decorated with tapestries and bright leather furniture. Certainly a sight for sore eyes.

George made himself comfortable in the pink chair. “Own your future” and other slogans screaming at him across the knit fabrics hanging off the walls. He didn’t know if it was that or the incense filling his lungs that was giving him a headache.

Luckily, George didn’t have to wait too long for Dream’s reading to finish. When he walked out, his face was flushed with a redness that he hadn’t seen before. Flustered.

“So what did the cards tell you about your life, then?”

Dream shrugged, not revealing anything. “Tarot cards say it’s not so bad.”

He gave George a wink, walking over to where he was sitting and whispered, “It’s all bullshit anyways.”

George rolled his eyes and got up from his seat. The room that Dream had just come out of was dark, besides a few candles.

“Hi, there.” The girl placed her hands out, palms facing out and gestured to George that he should follow suit.

“Okay, I’m going to place a total of four cards out in front of you from my suit of swords tarot card deck and then we’re going to go over what they mean. Okay?”

George nodded his head, though he had little faith in this kind of stuff. It was cool sure, and he respected anyone who believed in it, but the conclusions that came from the readings were usually so non-descriptive that it was easy for any person to apply it to their life.

The shuffling of the thick card set vibrated throughout the room, the girl flipping the first card over, soon followed by the other three. She straightened the cards in the deck out and placed them to the side, though her brows were scrunched in perplexity.

“Interesting…”

“Like interesting good, or interesting bad?”

The girl hummed quietly to herself, then looked up at George, eyes narrowed. “Both. Could be either, depending on how you interpret the cards. Okay let’s start…” her eyes scanned over the cards, “...Here.” She pointed at the card on the top left.

“This is the eight of swords. It’s turned upright… from your perspective. So this one means that you may have recently expressed self-limiting beliefs, and have criticized yourself maybe somewhat internally. Have you felt some sort of self-loathing recently?”

She looked up and scanned George’s face, which he was sure had transformed into a look of surprise.

I could sense the self-loathing all over you.

“I mean… I guess, yeah.”

“Well, I guess the good part is, the other part of this card is that you’ve started to release some of these negative thoughts and have become open to new perspectives.”

George was surprised that the card genuinely did relate to him, though he knew the meaning of them were still displayed in a way that was easily applicable to anyone, so he wasn’t too convinced yet. It was just strange how well it had fit into the past couple hours.

“Okay now these next two…” George could see the grimace on her face. “We’ve got the ten of swords and the three of swords, both similar in their meaning.”

George looked down at the two cards- the three swords penetrating a bleeding heart, and the ten swords lodged cleanly in the back of a man lying on the ground.

_Great._

“Something in your future might be ending soon, and if it does it’ll come as a surprise- will leave deep wounds, sorrow and grief.”

“Well fuck.” George didn’t know how there was any way to interpret those cards as something positive. He looked up to her for any type of consolation, hoping something in the cards was positive in comparison to these two.

“Well, don’t fret yet. This last card here, the king of swords indicates that there might be some sort of resolve. Upright means that you’ll eventually have some mental clarity and that you’ll turn to some other higher power or authority, thus leading you to find truth for whatever happens.”

George wanted to laugh. Would have laughed if there wasn’t some part of him that thought these cards actually held any legitimacy to them. Maybe would have found it humorous if Dream wasn’t the only person who had the power to make any of these cards come true.

“Hey…” the girl gave him a comforting pat on his hand, “the cards don’t have an expiration date. Could happen in a month, or in a couple years. I wouldn’t worry…” she paused. “Are you with the blonde boy?”

“Uh… no.” The word lifted up with a question mark, filling in the space of the question that he didn’t have the answer to himself.

The girl nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry then.”

But if it was a yes, he’d have to worry? George didn’t let the thoughts linger too long.

“Sometimes these cards work in ways that aren’t so literal, don’t dwell on what they say. They’re just a mere prediction, okay?”

George nodded, and forced a smile as he got up from his chair.

“Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

George pulled out his wad of bills, “For me and the blondie.”

When George came back out to Dream, Dream looked lost in thought, entranced by the mandala design on the tapestry. Dream’s face fell a little when he saw George.

“Everything okay?”

“Mhm… It’s all just bullshit anyways, right?”

George wished he could ignore the guilt that he saw in Dream’s eyes when he looked at him. Buried below in the depths of his irises; it was miniscule, but still there. He didn’t bother to ask what the cards had told him, didn’t want to know the answer.

George tried to push the unease aside, and told himself that a deck of cards had literally no weight on him or his future.

George slipped his hand into Dream’s, as if he was the rope tied to the anchor that would keep them in this moment forever.

It was nearly dawn now. The sun was brimming over the tree line, covered by a light dusting of clouds.

George and Dream had made their way back to George’s apartment, greeted with a flurry of meows by his cat.

George was lying on Dream’s chest. His eyes fighting off sleep each minute.

He could hear Dream’s heartbeat. Feel it- relentless and unyielding.

George thought about what Dream had told him- how the city had eaten him alive. As George rested the palm of his hand on Dream’s chest, he knew that wasn’t completely true.

He still had his heart.

George thought that that was the last thing to go. When your body was slowly getting picked at, the heart, the most important part, would be the last to go.

He traced his finger along Dream’s chest, in slow, circular patterns.

“Do you have to leave?” His throat tender, softening the disappointment George felt. He didn’t want the night to end. He didn’t want Dream to go.

“I do.” Dream said, regretfully. “I have my own cat to attend to…” He made no effort to move, though, and ran his hands through George’s hair.

The two laid there, enjoying the comfort the one brought to the other.

“Hey.” George said after a while, “Can I have your phone?”

George rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, looking at Dream.

“Oh wow, George. Snooping on the first date, already?”

George laughed, “No. No. Just wanted to give you my number you know, if you ever wanted to do this again?”

His smile. God. George was going to miss that when he left.

“Does this mean I can call you whenever I want?” Dream asked after George had finished putting in his number.

“Call, text, facetime, whatever… whatever you want and I’ll answer.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay.” Dream smiled with lazy delight and kissed the top of George’s head. Then, with his thumb and pointer finger, lifted George’s chin, and kissed him softly on the lips. The sweet taste of cherries and strawberries lingered.

“Okay, okay. I have to go or I’ll end up staying forever.” Dream rolled over causing George’s head to land on the pillow beneath him which lacked the warmth and comfort that Dream’s chest previously provided.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Softness and sleepiness dripped off George’s tongue.

George thought he could hear laughter from Dream, but had quickly given up the battle against sleep amidst Dream’s departure.

George felt Dream’s lips upon his once more and heard one last whispered “Goodbye, George” before he closed his eyes completely in a silent surrender.

***

When George woke hours later the sun was hung lower in the sky, a brilliant golden orange.

Dawn to dusk.

George rubbed his eyes noticing the dark red stain on the corner of his sleeve. Evidence that he hadn’t been dreaming of the night that had only ended just a few hours ago.

Scout, his cat, was asleep on his chest. Content purrs rolling in like wind on a field of tall grass.

George gingerly shook his arm from underneath the covers, reaching over to his bedside table to grab his phone.

12 missed calls. 37 new text messages.

“Shit.”

12:34 P.M:  
 _Alex: Nick threw up in the taxi… SOS_

_Alex: George?_

_Alex: Hello??_

8:00 A.M:  
 _Alex: I got Nick back fine last night. Did you make it home?_

8:45 A.M:  
 _Alex: HELLO ??? PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE_

_Alex: I’M LITERALLY ABOUT TO CALL THE COPS_

9:30 A.M:  
 _Nick: Hey man, I think you should call Alex :)_

_Nick: Okay did we do something?_

10:15 A.M:  
 _Nick: Bro… Alex is really worried. Call us please?_

10:45 A.M:  
 _Alex: WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU TURN YOUR LOCATION OFF YOU BITCH_

_Nick: You better be sleeping or Alex and I are both going to come to kick your ass_

11:30 A.M:  
 _Nick: Jokes over. Call us._

_Alex: George I STG if I turn on the TV and it’s a picture of you and you died I’ll actually kms and throw hands with you down in hell_

12:00 A.M:  
 _Nick: George._

_Alex: GEORGE_

12:30 A.M:  
 _Mom: Call me now._

_Alex: We called your mom…_

1:00 P.M:  
 _Mom: George. I’m seriously worried about you please call me._

2:30 P.M:  
 _Alex: At this point you better be fucking dead_

3:30 P.M:  
 _Nick: Alex and I are coming over._

George checked the time on his watch, a 3:41 staring back at him. Unease built up in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it settled in the pit of his stomach instead.

As if on cue, George heard the bang against his wooden door. Scout lifted her head meowing loudly in protest.

“Sorry, kitty.” George picked her up and placed her down on the other side of the bed, pulling the cover off with him. He slowly made his way to the door, bracing himself for what was about to come.

“You woke up my cat.” His tone flat, monotone.

Alex stared back at him with relief- that relief soon turning into boiling hot anger.

“What the FUCK George! Do you not know how to answer your fucking phone?” Alex pushed his way into the apartment. His head shook with a silent fury George had never seen before.

Nick followed him in and said quietly, “you fucked up dude.”

George knew he had. And he felt bad about it, truly but…

“You know, maybe we could use this as a learning lesson. See because you do the same thing to me.”

He turned to Alex with an uneasy smile on his face.

“Yeah. That wasn’t the right thing to say.”

“Thank you, Nick.” Sarcasm dripped from his lips, “Very helpful.”

Nick held his hands up in defense and backed away from George and Alex.

“I’m sorry.” George said finally. He meant it.

“I really am sorry, I just got… caught up.”

“With what. Or who? And too caught up to look at your phone for 14 hours?!”

George fell silent. Because yes. He was genuinely caught up for at least nine of those hours.

“A who…”

A him.

“Okay well who was it then? Do we know them?”

George felt an anxious string tug at him. Attempting to explain to his friends who Dream was and what happened between them was going to be a near impossible task when George himself hadn’t fully processed it.

“No…” George sighed and sat down, mentally preparing how the next hour would go.

***

“So… let me try and get this straight.” Alex was sat across from George on the couch. Confusion clouding his face.

“Dream, or Clay, or whatever, jumped into your taxi and somehow convinced _you_ to spend the whole night in the city with him? And you didn’t get back until 6 am?”

“Essentially, yeah.”

George looked down at his hands that were still a little blue from the hours spent in the cold.

“Well now I kind of want to meet this kid and ask him how he did it.” Alex laughed, the only trace of anger left in his voice caused by faint jealousy.

George gave him a polite smile, though some part of him was pained thinking that he would never have a night like that again.

“Did anything else happen?” Nick asked softly, breaking the silence that he had built up over the past hour.

“What do you mean?” George felt his heartbeat pick up in a violent panic.

He had left out the kiss.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged nonchalantly, “Just wondering.”

“No… no that was it.”

Nick’s brow was raised in an accusatory yet concerned way, though he didn’t push the subject.

George was grateful for that.

“Okay. Okay. Next time just give us a text, please?” Alex stood up and gave George a light pat on the knee.

“I’ve got to get back home, but I’m glad you’re not dead. And I really would like to meet this Dream, sometime.”

George knew that Dream would get along so well with his friends, but he also, selfishly, wanted to keep Dream to himself. He wanted to keep the little magic that Dream had brought him tucked away high on a shelf- away from anyone else’s reach.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re okay.” Nick gave him a comforting tap. “Call me later, yeah?”

George followed them to the door as exhaustion settled over him, the events from the night finally catching up to him.

“Hey. Love you dude.” Nick searched George’s face for some kind of tell. George knew Nick could feel it, feel that something was off. That’s what being friends for three years would do to you.

“Love you. I’ll call you later.”

George sunk to the floor, the door a soothing cold behind him. George pulled out his phone, the blue light so bright against his tired eyes.

_No new notifications._

This was fine. He was sure Dream was just catching up on sleep.

It was fine.

George opened up Instagram and typed in Dream.

_User not found._

Okay fine. Of course. Why would he have an account under Dream?

He tried Clay next.

_Now showing 1,560 results for: Clay._

George sighed and turned his phone off with a click.

It was fine. Dream would text him whenever he could. Right?

George tried to ignore the voice in his head that was telling him he was never going to hear from him again. Pushed it away, pushed it down- tried to lock it up.

He picked up his phone again.

_No new notifications._

George sighed and turned his phone off with a shuttered click.

George heard the little patter of paws as Scout came walking into the room, snuggling herself into George. He leaned his head against the door. The buzz of electricity coming from the lights in the hall soothed him to sleep.

***

George had a dream about Dream. Or rather, a nightmare.

The two of them, back on that roof. Except it was day time now. The sun strung up high in the sky, rounded and full.

Dream was standing on the edge. George was just a few feet behind him.

Dream was reaching out towards the sun. His body stretched out as far as possible as if he would eventually be able to touch it.

George watched in agonizing slow motion as Dream lost footing, his right foot slipping off the side, his face frozen in shock.

George tried to move, tried to scream. Made a frantic attempt to grab unto him- Dream just barely out of arm’s reach. He was useless as he watched Dream plummet into the darkness below.

George woke in a cold sweat, still on the floor. The clock above his stove ticked tirelessly.

9:15 P.M.

George got up off the floor and made his way to the kitchen sink, pouring himself a glass of water.

He felt like he was coming down from a high.

And maybe he was, in a way.

George remembered that he promised to call Nick, but he didn’t think he could bear to talk about Dream anymore today.

Instead, he got under his covers and welcomed the loneliness he had worked so hard to forget with open arms.

He let it wrap him in a constrained hug, wrists and ankles shackled as the loneliness seeped in like an old friend.

***

“George.”

Nick had picked up on the first ring.

“Hi Nick.”

“You want to tell me what else happened?”

“I…” the words were stuck in the back of his throat as George fought the overwhelming urge to cry.

“Hey… hey you’re okay, George. Just tell me what happened.”

So George did. He told him everything.

“And he hasn’t texted or anything yet?” Nick’s tone was so very soft, as if to not break George any further.

As if George had a handle with care sign hanging around his neck.

“No.”

George had been trying to rack his brain of where it went wrong, or if it ever was even right. He couldn’t believe Dream would just ghost him… leave him.

And George suddenly felt very foolish. So completely stupid that he let himself become so attached to someone he barely knew. The embarrassment coming through in hot and wet tears, the kind that made it hard to breathe.

“It’s only been a day.” Nick tried to comfort him with blind optimism.

But George knew what could happen in a day. Knew that time or the lack-there-of was no excuse.

“I’m sorry.” Was all Nick could offer. “Love you. Please don’t shut yourself off, George. Alex and I are both here for you. You know that.”

“I do. Love you.”

George hung up the phone with numb hands.

Felt himself fill with unbridled tension. Hatred scratching through his chest with its sharpened claws. Felt some of the hatred towards Dream, but felt most of it for himself.

***

The comedown. The comedown was always the worst part.

George remembered doing magic mushrooms with Nick a couple of months ago. The high that came from it, indescribable.

But the comedown. The comedown was horrible.

George remembered the feeling of nauseating agitation and paranoia. The fear of the dark and the shadows that lurked in every corner.

The slow and steady build up of his worst anxieties.

George remembered the feeling of his chest caving in, the struggle to find his breath, the dissociation from himself and his body.

George felt a similar feeling now. The ache in his chest as it pushed down on his lungs, his heart, causing his breath to quicken. The question of what he did wrong and why he wasn’t ever good enough for anyone breathing life into the space between.

George closed his eyes and inhaled deeply until the beating of his heart slowed into a steady rhythm.

He could move on from this.  
He would move on from this.

And he did move on from it- moved on from him.

In the following weeks and months to come, George stopped looking for Dream in every person he passed, every alleyway he walked through, every club he danced in. He stopped checking his phone constantly for notifications. The pain in his heart easing into a dull ache no longer pierced with prolonged bitterness.

George would hold that night he spent with Dream in his heart probably forever, but it was just one night. One night.

Just a tiny blip in the grand scheme of his entire life. He had to move on. He had to let Dream go.

***

George was back on that roof.

The lights of the city dimmed with a lackluster glow. The sun dripping rays of honey over the building, the golden liquid hardened by the biting January wind.

As he looked out at the city in front of him, for a moment he felt nothing but a release of relief. A feeling of contentment. A feeling of being genuinely okay. Okay with himself, the current situation, Dream, everything.

He closed his eyes, smiled, and let the sun wash over him with its liquid gold, hitting his skin just right.

He was okay and that would be enough for now.

George felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

And just like that, with one single message, he felt the entire world he had worked to rebuild crumble beneath his feet.

_One New Message_

4:57 P.M:  
 _Maybe: Clay: Hi there._

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy howdy, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!
> 
> You can find me @ miifkarl on twitter if you want to talk abt anything <3


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